We came across it suddenly and unexpectedly in the flat plains of western Kansas. We were searching for pueblo ruins indicated on a map. What we found was paradise recessed into a deceptive prairie.
For several years, my husband had expressed a desire to see western Kansas. His persistent longing to see a dusty flat prairie mystified me. Still, when vacation time rolled around, we decided to make a pass through western Kansas on our way to see the Badlands of South Dakota. I didn't figure we'd spend much time in Kansas - only as long as it took to travel a straight highway at the maximum speed limit in one day.
This page was last updated: February 17, 2009
About ten miles north of Scott City, we turned on highway 96. According to the map, it made a detour through Lake Scott City State Park where the ruin was located and then swung back to meet highway 83. The lake was supposed to be near the ruin, but we decided it would have to be tiny and shallow. So far the scenery had offered little more than low rolling hills, a vast blue sky and an occasional tree. Strange, how landscape can make a person feel so small and insignificant.
As we discussed the possibility that we had turned off the highway too soon, the highway began a steep descent. We both gasped with surprise as the prairie rose on both sides of us. The highway curved and plunged into a colorful canyon. Deep green Cottonwood trees welcomed us with open limbs. Tan prairie grass stood tall and then rippled like water with a gust of wind. The tall grass finally lapped gently at the perimeter of tidy green grass, mown crisply to the edge of a terra colored highway. The ruins lay directly before us, well maintained and void of tourists.
We spent our first night in Garden City, Kansas. It had been a long ride from Rogers, Arkansas, but we were finally ready to relax and enjoy our vacation. In the lobby of the Big 8 motel, I thumbed through some brochures. I must admit I was surprised at the number of attractions in the area. One brochure in particular caught my attention. I recognized the name "Chalk Pyramids" because a coworker had told me about them. Properly called Monument Rock, it was barely off the main highway. As I replaced the brochure, another demanded my attention. The only pueblo ruin in the state of Kansas. Now that was something I had to see. I have always found Native American artifacts fascinating. Two places of interest should break the monotony of the journey.
We were up by seven the next morning. My husband was anxious to get started. I was steeling myself for a long boring drive. We headed north on highway 83, flanked on both sides by miles of corn and soybean fields. Occasionally we were fortunate enough see a pheasant.
Embracing us from every side was a unique variety of grassy hills, red mesas and ivory bluffs. Trees crept to their feet, but refused to climb the steep banks, obviously reluctant to abandon the moist valley for the parched prairie above. It was as if we had entered a subterranean world. We paused at the side of the road, gawking. The road curved away from the ruin, toward lush green grass. The lake was barely visible. The ruins forgotten for the moment, we followed the road as it looped through the canyon and kissed the lake briefly. We passed one idyllic picnic site after another, each with a different perspective of the park. The lake, we discovered later, was a mere 100 acres in size. Calling that deep blue paradise a lake was a little like calling New York a city, or that pounding in your chest a heart. We did not know it at the time, but we had descended into a place that National Geographic Magazine had named one of the 50 must see state parks. The lake is fed by several natural springs. In 1930 a dam was constructed to form the the lake. Today the park has no less than 60 campsites carefully arranged in the hidden valley. In spite of the spacious feeling of the park, it claims host to an average of 150,000 visitors a year.
We followed the road through the park until we could no longer simply gaze in awe. We had to get out of the car and smell the cedar trees, listen to the birds and become part of its pristine beauty. We finally stopped at one of the picnic sites and ate breakfast. A few fishing boats drifted around the lake, but no motors disturbed the croaking of the frogs or birds calls. A light breeze brushed by us on its journey across the lake. A gap between two hills offered a glimpse of the prairie - a scenic reminder that we still had a lot of miles to go.
We visited the ruins before leaving the park. There we made a vow that we would come back some day when we could spend more than a few hours. Back on 96 highway, we sadly climbed out of the canyon. We stopped one last time at the top and looked back. Our paradise had vanished into the prairie again.
Further north on highway 83 we stopped at a tiny museum before detouring to see Monument Rocks. They, too, were hidden from the highway - an impressive monument to the days when the ocean covered the entire area.
We left the state of Kansas much wiser. Never again will I think of western Kansas as a boring prairie. Western Kansas is much like life. With an open mind and a little effort, you can uncover many hidden joys.
Hwy 96, Lake Scott 3 miles ahead - out of sight.
Hwy 96, looking back at where the canyon is - out of sight again.
This web site may be published with credit to author/photographer, Linda L. Rigsbee.
We visited the ruins before leaving the park. There we made a vow that we would come back some day when we could spend more than a few hours. Back on 96 highway, we sadly climbed out of the canyon. We stopped one last time at the top and looked back. Our paradise had vanished into the prairie again.
